Under Attack

Chapter Twenty

I sunk my key into my lock and pushed open the front door. ChaCha came vaulting toward me in a series of yips and barks. She took one whiff of my smoke-scented jeans and backed away, then snuggled back into her bed and began licking her toes.

“Behold the unconditional love of man’s best friend.”

“Can I get you something?” Alex asked, helping me out of my jacket. “A cup of tea, something to eat?”

“Stop fussing over me, Alex. I’m fine.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and I shivered at his gentle, warm touch. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look fine.”

I glanced down at my soot-streaked blue smock, at my red plastic trainee name tag that had melted to a warbling glob. There were scratches and bruises on my forearms that I didn’t remember getting, and the knee of my jeans was torn wide open, brown-red blood staining the denim.

I smiled. “Geez, the one time I could really use my People’s Pants discount, the place burns down.”

Alex stepped back. “Why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll make us something to eat.” He went to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge, then frowned over his shoulder at me. “Okay, which do you prefer—two tablespoons of cottage cheese, half a blood bag, or a moldy lemon?”

My stomach lurched. “Your choice.”

Alex poked the mushy lemon. “Maybe I’ll order out.”

I peeled off my smoke-stained clothes and dumped the whole mess—smock and all—into the bathroom wastebasket. I ran a shower as hot as I could stand it and worked hard to scrub the day—soot, death threats, and all—from my skin and hair. When I stepped out of the shower the bathroom was choked with a breath-stealing haze of steam. I slunk into my robe and glanced at the steamed-up mirror from the corner of my eye, half expecting to see my grandmother’s disappointed face, half glad when the only reflection staring back at me was my own.

“Sophie Lawson!”

I stopped dead, my hand hovering over the shiny doorknob. My grandmother’s face was stretched over it. Her brows were drawn, her wrinkled lips puckered. “Oh, my sweet girl, are you okay? I heard about the fire.”

I ran my hands through my damp hair, winding it into a weak bun. “I’m fine, Gram. We all got out okay.” I sank back. “How did you hear about it?”

I watched Grandma’s hand—her nails manicured an improbable tangerine—squeeze her chest. “Never mind. I was just so worried about you. What happened?”

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days. Isn’t there some sort of heavenly paging system?”

“Sophie, the fire. Tell me what happened.”

I thought of the swirling stacks of polyester smoke, of Lorraine, Kale, and Avery hunching under the counter— of Adam’s clear, cut-glass eyes and his dagger. I bit my lip. “Grandma, what do you know about Nephilim?”

Grandma’s eyes widened, milky and blue in the doorknob reflection. “Sophie, what is this about?”

“It’s about the goon gang that tried to barbeque me and my friends this afternoon. They weren’t normal, Gram. They weren’t people.”

“Well, Sophie, you know how rare it is we run into actual ‘people’ in the city. Are you sure they weren’t—”

I crossed my arms. “They weren’t Underworld, either.”

Grandma tapped her nail against her lip.

“What do you know about me?”

Grandma’s eyebrows rose. “About you, darling? What are you talking—?”

“Please, Grandma.”

The reflection in the doorknob wobbled and started to fade. I crouched down. “Grandma! Grandma! Geez!”

I flung open the bathroom door and Alex stood in front of me, grinning. “Something you want to tell me?”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t know. I just spent the last twenty minutes talking to a doorknob.”

Alex held up a bulging plastic takeout bag. “Me, too. But I think they got the order right.”

Alex and I were halfway through our dinner when he leaned back on the couch, wiping his hands on a napkin.

“Are you planning on actually eating anything, or just pushing it around into fun patterns?”

I rested my plate on the coffee table and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Alex. I guess I’m just not that hungry. I can’t stop thinking about ... everything. With all the stuff that has happened, I feel more lost than ever. I don’t have a single answer.”

“Well, at least you know that you’re the Vessel,” Alex tried helpfully.

I shrugged. “Another question. Why? And how? And, what am I supposed to do about it? And, two weeks ago I barely knew who my father was. Now I know he’s Satan. And I still don’t know him, know him.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Do you think—if my dad is ... him—that he could have had something to do with my mother’s death?”

Alex swallowed. “It wouldn’t be the first time he was involved with someone’s death. That could explain why your grandmother is so against you searching for him.”

“Do you think she’s protecting me?”

“Of course she is. She doesn’t want you to find him because he’s the man who abandoned you. He hurt you once. Whether or not it’s because he’s the devil, too, well, she might be protecting you against that, as well. Maybe she could at least give you some information about the Vessel—how you became ... it.”

“And then there’s Ophelia.”

I watched the muscle in Alex’s jaw twitch as he looked at the food remaining on his plate and pushed it aside.

I looked down, tracing a pattern on the couch. “I don’t know how to protect myself against Ophelia.”

Alex took my hand; his grip was firm and encompassing. “You don’t need to protect yourself against Ophelia. I’ll do that.”

I felt the burning prick of tears behind my eyes. “I’m not sure you can.”

“I brought her into your life. I promise, I’ll find a way to get her out. And as for your father and the other stuff, we’ll tackle it, too. Together.”

I looked into Alex’s earnest eyes and call it exhaustion or trust, but something broke and I wanted to believe him. I wanted to live the rest of my life drowning in those eyes, believing in the safety of his firm arms, feeling the warmth from his chiseled chest. I wanted the only sound I heard to be his heartbeat.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” I asked.

“Anything,” Alex said.

I woke up to the delicious warmth of midmorning sun and Alex Grace. He slept soundly, his naked chest rising and falling in a perfect, slow rhythm, his arms wrapped tightly, safely around me. I snuggled closer to him and he shifted, his full lips brushing across my forehead in a gentle feather of small kisses.

“Morning,” he murmured.

I felt the smile spread across my lips, reaching all the way to my earlobes. “Morning,” I repeated.

Alex’s fingers trailed through my hair and the gentle tousle made me break out in delighted gooseflesh. Alex grinned. “What are you thinking about?”

I should have said something sexy, something sensuous or Carrie Bradshaw chic, but when I opened my mouth, I heard the word “donuts” tumble out. I felt my face flush pink.

I shook against Alex’s chest as he laughed. “See, Lawson? That’s what I love about you. You’re a real woman with a real appetite.” His fingertips danced lightly over my neck and shoulders. “And you have a very good taste.”

“Don’t you mean I have very good taste?”

Alex raised one eyebrow slyly and grinned. Then he gently slid out from under me, resting my head on my pillow. I pretended not to watch as he leaned down and slid into his worn jeans and then slipped his snug white tee over his head. He grabbed his keys from the nightstand, leaned down on his elbows on the bed, and pressed his lips against mine. “Donuts it is.”

I watched him rake a hand through his disheveled curls and slip out my bedroom door, then heard the lock on the front door tumble as he stepped out. I sunk deeper into my pillows letting the contentment of the night and of this sun-drenched morning wash over me. I breathed in deeply the comforting scent of laundry detergent and Alex Grace from my pillows.

Donuts it is, Ophelia mocked.

The millisecond of surprise at hearing Ophelia’s voice reverberating in my head was instantly replaced by searing anger. “This is my morning, Ophelia,” I said between gritted teeth. “Get out.”

Sophie, Sophie, Sophie, she intoned, you are so easily played. Do you really think you’re special? Suddenly my mind was filled with images of Alex again, of his strong naked back. A pair of female hands slipped over his shoulders, raked blood-red nails across his taut skin, leaving prickly red trails. There was a low, feral moan and Ophelia appeared, her pink lips nibbling and biting along Alex’s shoulder, the corner of her mouth turned up in a sly grin.

“Stop that,” I spat. “It’s not true.” I buried my head into my pillows, breathed Alex’s warm scent, flooded my own mind with memories from last night, with the sweet, salty taste of Alex’s skin, with the way his lips tasted on mine—plump, bee-stung, juicy—like ripe strawberries. I felt his fingers glide over my body, felt his palm pressing against mine. I heard his heartbeat, heard his breath as it went ragged, hungry in my ear. I felt his skin on mine, his chest pressed against me. I snaked my legs over his.

He doesn’t love you, Ophelia tried again. You’re a means to an end and you know it. I could feel Ophelia trying to work her way into my mind, but the memory—the real memory—of Alex and me was too strong and Ophelia was losing power. Her voice was softer, more distant but still hard: I’m tired of these games. It’s just me and you now, Sophie, and I’m coming to get you. I smiled in spite of Ophelia’s ominous warning. When I felt her leave, I slid into a hot shower.

When I padded into the living room Alex was in the kitchen with a huge, grease-spotted white bakery bag and two plastic-lidded paper cups filled with coffee. He held one out to me. “Skinny mocha, half whip, extra cocoa and a shot of hazelnut.” He reached into the bakery bag and balanced a chocolate glazed donut on a napkin. “And a donut.”

I took both and grinned. “You really are an angel.”

He raised one brow salaciously. “I aim to please.”

I felt myself go red from toenails to the top of my head.

“Did I miss anything while I was gone?” Alex asked, mouth full of maple glazed.

I pried the lid off my coffee and took a large, sweet, hazelnutty swig. “Not a thing,” I said.

I grinned and realized I was ravenous. We took the bounty to the coffee table and set out our spoils. I was halfway through my second chocolate-glazed Bavarian cream filled when I felt the cold prick of fear slink up my neck. I cocked my head, listening.

“What’s up?” Alex took a slug from his paper coffee cup, then finished a second maple bar in two bites.

“Listen.”

Alex plucked a pink-sprinkled number from the box. “To what?” he said as I stared at him, eyes wide. He picked at a stripe of pink frosting while I watched him. “I’m secure enough in my masculinity to eat a pink donut.”

“It’s not that.” I stood up and ran to the bench by the door, pawing through the heap of purses, shopping bags, and jackets that Nina and I had discarded there. “A phone is ringing.”

Alex sat back with his pink donut, nonplussed. “Life was so much simpler before the invention of that thing. I gotta say, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t catch on. Boy, was my face red... .”

“Shut up, Alex,” I said, “I need to listen.”

I tore through the entire pile of bags and then followed the sound on hands and knees. “Ah ha!” I reached under the couch—all the way to my shoulder—and slid out the offending phone. It stopped ringing immediately and my stomach dropped. I held up the phone.

“This is Nina’s phone.”

“So?”

I held the phone aloft. “Nina doesn’t go anywhere without her phone. Nowhere. If she showered, she’d take it there.”

“So, maybe she forgot.” Alex patted his flat gut. “I’ve got room for a third.”

“You don’t understand. If Nina’s phone is here and Nina is not, then something is wrong.” I tucked the phone in my robe pocket and ran to Nina’s closed door. “Something is seriously wrong.”

“Nina?” I knocked spastically, then pushed the door open, plunging inside her room.

To call Nina’s room a bedroom is misleading; showroom would be more apt. Along with the occasional naïve neck, Nina’s fangs were deeply entrenched in all things fashionable and she wore every decade of her life with that fashionable fervor. Thus, her room was lined with boutique-quality couture all the way back from the 1800s; Victorian corsets mingled with Juicy hoodies, hand-hewn necklaces and tatted lace from the Edwardian ages merged seamlessly with hip-huggers and love beads.

“She’s not here,” I said, my mouth going dry.

I jumped—and so did my heart—when the phone rang again. I dove into my pocket.

“Hello? Nina?”

There was laughter on the other end of the line and then a piercing, primitive scream. “Hey there, sis,” Ophelia said. “I think I’ve got something of yours.”

Ophelia continued to giggle and I heard the wailing scream again. Then heaving tears. Then the phone went dead.

“Who was that?” Alex asked.

I turned to him, suddenly feeling leaden. “That was Ophelia. And she’s got Nina.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

I shook the phone as if an explanation would fall out. “Ophelia has Nina. She’s hurting her.” I slapped my palm to my forehead. “That’s why she sent the Nephilim. She wasn’t trying to scare me, she was trying to distract me, get me all wrapped up in the fire at People’s Pants.” I swallowed a sob. “And it worked.”

Alex took both my hands and led me to the couch, trying to get me to sit down.

“No,” I said, dodging him. “We have to go. Now. We have to save Nina.”

“Where is she?”

I frowned down at the phone, my vision blurred with a fresh wave of tears. “I don’t know.”

“It’ll be okay. Nina’s an immortal; there’s not much that Ophelia can do to her, right?”

I gaped. “Except drive a stake through her heart, cut off her head, light her on fire, send her out in the sunshine, shoot her with a silver bullet ...”

“I thought that only worked with werewolves.”

“Oh, now you’re paying attention to legendry?”

“Lawson—”

“No, now.” I peeled off my bathrobe and yanked yesterday’s (pre-Pants fire) clothes off the floor. I was hopping on one foot, trying to get into a pair of jeans, when Alex stopped me.

“Calm down, Lawson, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

“Better me than Nina!” I shrieked, finally getting the blasted pants over my hips.

“Let’s sit down and figure something out first.”

I yanked a semi-clean sweatshirt over my head. “Why can’t you see how serious this is?”

A giggle roiled through my head. Ophelia’s ghostly laughter. Alex has a secret... . she sang.

I stepped back. “What are you hiding?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you want me to find Nina?”

Alex’s brows drew together. “I’m not hiding anything and I do want you to find Nina. I want to help you find Nina, but you just can’t go off half-cocked like this. Ophelia is dangerous and—and—for all we know, this could be a trap. You could be walking right into a trap.”

“I don’t care, Alex. I don’t care. I’m not going to risk Nina. I’m not going to put anyone else’s life at risk because of me, especially not my best friend’s.”

“I’m just saying we need a plan.”

I stood nose to nose with Alex, the fury rolling off me in waves. “And I’m saying we have to look for Nina, now.”

“You have to know that out of any of us, Nina is the one best prepared to take care of herself,” Alex said as he followed me out the door.

“Yeah,” I said, taking the stairs two at a time. “But that doesn’t mean she should have to.”